


what can i say that would make you see (make you need me?)

by nonafng



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood, Boys Kissing, DSMP, George is a dsmp!Dream apologist in disguise, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mentioned Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Minor Injuries, They love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29532834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonafng/pseuds/nonafng
Summary: "Dream?"The name rushes out of him in a breath of air before George is able to stop himself. Embarrassingly, he's unable to stop his pulse from quickening under his skin at the sight of the younger man either.Dream, who he hasn't seen inmonths.Dream who stopped visiting after he personally dethroned George. Dream, who he’s known since they were children and then when they were teens, adults.Dream, who is bleeding.Wait what?
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 67
Collections: the dnf that shivers my timbers that seas my shanty





	what can i say that would make you see (make you need me?)

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally posted under anon.)

It’s well past midnight when George hears the first small knock on his front door. 

He ignores it of course, being half asleep will make even the most alert person lower their inhibitions. A second knock follows the first shortly after however.

George squeezes his eyes shut tight for a moment then sighs in irritation, dragging a heavy hand across his face to wipe the sleep from his eyes. He gives himself a moment to stare at the ceiling of his bedroom, contemplating what he did in his previous life to deserve this interruption.

And finally, a third knock, louder this time. 

" _Alright_ , I'm coming!" He's forced to haul himself out of the warmth of his bed to greet whoever it is that’s decided they'd like to be the current bane of George's existence. 

He opens his mouth, poised to start (gently) verbally abusing whoever concluded that an early morning visit to George's purposely secluded cottage was a good idea, but when he unlocks his door and pulls it open with a little too much aggression he's shocked silent.

Because there, on his front porch, is..

_"Dream?"_

The name rushes out of him in a breath of air before George is able to stop himself. Embarrassingly, he's unable to stop his pulse from quickening under his skin at the sight of the younger man either.

Dream, who he hasn't seen in _months._ Dream who stopped visiting after he personally dethroned George. Dream, who he’s known since they were children and then when they were teens, adults. 

Dream, who is bleeding. _Wait what?_

" _Shit,_ are you okay?" The tremble in his voice betrays the animosity he's supposed to have for the other. 

"George." It sounds like a 'hello' and though rough, Dream's voice is soft, too soft. _Unfair._

After Dream sees the incredulous look on George's face he speaks up again, answering George's previous question,

"M'fine." His voice is clearly ragged with exhaustion. George doesn't have the energy to roll his eyes at Dream's stubbornness, though he secretly takes comfort in the familiarity of it all. 

Dream's mask is in it's usual spot across his face, only his mouth and chin are visible underneath it. There's dried blood on his bottom lip and Dream has a hand on his side where a dark maroon stain is blooming on his clothes. George pushes past the urge to reach out and soothe the younger.

He does however, allow himself to rest a gentle hand on Dream's bicep, wordlessly inviting him inside. 

Memories of easier times flash in George's mind as he's leading Dream towards the table in his dining room. Images of himself, Dream and Sapnap playing together when they were younger, not a care in the world. 

Reality comes crashing down with the knowledge that their little family is no longer, it hasn't been a _family_ for months. It's easy to blame Dream for the way things turned out. He tries not to be bitter about it all. 

Once at the dining room table, George pulls out a cushioned stool for Dream to sit on. The latter leans heavily on the tabletop as soon as he's seated, there's a pull at Dream’s lip when he winces that George has only seen a handful of times. Dream has never been one to wear his discomfort on his face so easily.

George's hand is still resting gently on Dream's shoulder, he can feel the heat radiate from Dream’s skin even through the layers of clothing he's wearing. George wordlessly lifts his hand off but the heat in his fingertips from the touch lingers. 

"May I?" George gestures to Dream's side. All he gets in reply is a curt nod and Dream sucking in a sharp breath as he removes his hand from covering the wound.

As soon as he does, blood pools on Dream's exposed flesh and the surrounding cloth. It's not terrible, but it's not great either. It's clearly a stab wound of some sort, 

"Okay." George takes a stuttering inhale. "Put pressure on it again," he pauses while Dream complies, "give me a moment."

He springs into action, bustling around his kitchen, opening draws and cupboards in search of the materials needed to clean and close the wound. He makes sure to wash his hands and sterilise (I.e. pour alcohol generously on) the largest sewing needle he can find.

Before George knows it, he's pulling out a small foot stool and placing it in front of Dream. Setting down all his items next to the younger on the table and placing a warm bucket of water beside the foot stool, he sits and taps Dream's forearm lightly to prompt him to remove his hand from his side again.

The blood pools again, albeit much slower this time. It's seems like Dream's body is finally trying to combat the bleeding, however it's still difficult for George to see the extent of the damage. He goes to lift Dream's shirt but decides against it and instead asks Dream to do so, it's almost painful to watch.

Dream looks towards the ceiling as he's peeling the sticky remains of his shirt from his injured skin, he see the younger grimace slightly. George imagines he's trying to combat the pain by squeezing his eyes tight behind the mask. He has a passing thought that it's odd seeing Dream being vulnerable in this way, he’s always seemed invincible, like nothing could ever hurt him. 

Once the shirt is lifted high enough, Dream releases an almost inaudible sigh of relief. George is finally able to see the damage done to the younger, he's a little shocked by the amount of other injuries he's garnered. 

There's both light and dark bruises littering his torso, some old some new. Scuffs and grazes can be found as well, nothing as bad as the stab wound obviously but George's heart still stings seeing his old friend this bloody and bruised. 

George rolls his sleeves up to his elbows then reaches for the rags he's placed beside Dream. He soaks them for a moment before squeezing some of the excess water out then moves closer to Dream. 

There's a moment where George hesitates, before he's placing a cool hand on the small of Dream's back for leverage, and then he's wiping away the dirt and grime surrounding the wound. Dream visibly tenses when the rag touches his skin, the surrounding area of the stab wound being just as sensitive as the injury itself. 

George tries to be gentle but you can only get so far with light touches. And for what it's worth, Dream never vocally announces his discomfort, the only clue that he's in a pain at all is his uneven breath. He rinses the rag periodically, and eventually gets up to change the water in preparation to clean the wound itself. 

Dream's body language is much similar while George tends to the puncture in his side. He's always been too proud to show any weakness, again, George finds himself oddly comforted by the knowledge that Dream hasn't changed, at least not that infuriating aspect of himself. 

George breaks the silence after he's cleaned the wound as best as he can with warm water, the skin around the puncture is puffy and irritated. 

"I'm going to have to disinfect it." George knows that Dream can hear the implied 'this is going to hurt like a bitch' and nods in affirmation. 

In his peripheral, George can see Dream gripping the table top. There’s a moment, between George reaching for the alcohol and the second Dream’s groaning from the pain of it touching punctured tissue, where George thinks _Good, I hope that hurt._

It’s an ugly thought to have, one forged from broken promises and unresolved bitterness towards the man before him. 

He doesn't enjoy the dull prick of resentment he feels towards Dream in his chest, he was so used to Dream being his safe space for years that it feels like some sort of betrayal to feel anything negative towards him at all. 

George can't change it alone however, the feelings are there, bottled up. Only sometimes making themselves known. 

It passes before he knows it, replaced with an ache behind his sternum that feels suspiciously like shame and an obligation to help Dream. An obligation that’s always been a part of George, like an extra limb. 

“I’m sorry.” Dream has no way of understanding the depth of what George is apologising for but it makes the shame brought on by his thoughts a little lighter, and that’s all he can ask for. 

Dream hums belatedly in acknowledgement. 

George is quick to stitch Dream up, it’s a little crude but he’s sure it’ll do the trick. Dream surprisingly doesn’t react that much to a literal needle being pushed through his skin as much as he did when alcohol was introduced. George begrudgingly thinks it’s impressive. 

Dream helps lift the back of his shirt while George dresses the recently stitched wound. It’s a little awkward, George has to reach around Dream’s middle every time to wrap another layer of bandage but it’s not unbearable. He’s extra careful not to knock Dream’s side or push too hard on any bruises. 

Dream’s shirt that was once soaked with blood is now almost completely dry, George gestures for him to release his hold on the hem and glances at Dream’s split lip before coming to a decision. He clears his throat.

“Take it off.”

Dream’s hand stutters on it’s decent to put back the lower half of his shirt.

“Uh.” The younger’s head tilts down so he’s looking at the bottom of his shirt, George’s eyes widen momentarily before he’s rolling his eyes. Cheeks warm he says,

“The _mask,_ you idiot.” 

_“Oh.”_ After what feels like hours Dream’s tattered shirt is finally back in place, Dream is then reaching behind his head to presumably undo the buckle on his mask.

George stands up and heads to the sink to refill the bucket with clean, warm water. He locates a clean rag as well and turns to walk back to the dining room table. He’s stopped short however when he sees the tail end of Dream removing his mask. 

He pulls the ghastly white bone away from his face and places it nonchalantly on the table. As soon as Dream’s hand leaves the mask, in it’s place is a rusty-presumably red partial handprint. George would think that eerie if he wasn’t so distracted. 

Dream’s hair that was pushed back now falls over his forehead and in front of his eyes, no longer being held back by the strap that secures the mask to his face. 

The tune of George’s heart quickens. It’s not that he’s never seen Dream’s face before, because he has, on multiple occasions. It’s just that Dream’s only ever comfortable enough to take the horrid thing off when he’s certain that there’s no one else around. And it’s been months since their fallout. George almost forgot what he looked like (almost). 

He doesn’t think he could ever forget the small upturn of the younger’s nose or the way dark eyelashes fall on light freckles. Or how it feels to be at the end of Dream’s piercing gaze. 

“George?” _Oh,_ he’s staring. 

George blinks a couple of times and wills his legs to start moving back to his place in front of Dream. He chooses to ignore the heat rising to his cheeks for his own sanity. 

This time he pulls out an identical cushioned chair to sit parallel with Dream in order to be at his height level while tending to his busted lip. The way the chair scrapes across the floor irrationally makes him embarrassed.

Once seated, George finally catches Dream’s eyes for the first time in... a _long time._ His heart trips over itself.

Dream’s already looking at him which should come as no surprise, but it throws George off anyway. There’s a few strands of hair sitting in front of Dream’s eyes that touch the dusting of freckles on the tops of his cheeks. George clenches a fist lightly to fight the urge to tuck them away. 

He looks into Dream’s eyes again and watches as Dream’s skitter between George’s own, then settle on somewhere between his nose and mouth. 

George quirks a lip momentarily, _good to know he still can’t keep eye contact._ Dream being unable to look George in the eye weirdly gives him the confidence boost he needs to see to the small grazes littering Dream’s jaw and the cut on his bottom lip. 

He drops his attention from Dream and his infuriating appearance to collect the rag that he’d placed in the bucket of warm water sitting at his feet. He gives it a fairly good twist so it’s only damp before scooting a little closer to Dream.

Their knees knock, George places his right hand on the table next to Dream for leverage before leaning forward slightly. He doesn’t breathe in fear of disturbing the quiet spell they’ve fallen under. 

This time George goes slow when wiping away the dried blood on Dream’s lip and chin, there’s no impending sense of doom if he doesn’t fix it, no threat of Dream bleeding out. He falters momentarily when his finger lightly grazes Dream’s jaw, the day old scruff there sends a quick fizz of electricity up his arm. 

Because of that, George’s next swipe across Dream’s lip is a little rough.

_“Ow.”_ Dream laughs lowly but he still flinches back and gently holds George’s forearm to keep him from touching his face. He looks at George dubiously. 

“Sorry, come back.” He still looks sceptical but he allows George to continue his assault. Dream removes his hand from George’s forearm, lets his fingertips brush down his arm only to rest it just above George’s elbow.

George desperately hopes that Dream doesn’t notice the sound of his rebelling heart or the goosebumps he’s left in his wake.

He needs to finish up now before Dream makes him lose his god damn mind. He rinses the rag once, the water now cold, and moves on to the small abrasions on his jaw. 

George stands up in front of Dream and leans forward a little more for better reach, the younger still doesn’t let go. 

He places his right hand on the opposite side of Dream’s jaw for leverage, he doesn’t miss the way Dream’s eyelashes flutter at the touch. 

George makes the mistake of glancing down at Dream’s eyes while wiping away dried blood. He pauses when he finds Dream watching him, the younger catching his gaze and _holding it._

Dream’s brow is pinched and his eyes still flicker between George’s own but it doesn’t matter because it’s still entrancing, George is transfixed. 

George watches as Dream closes his eyes for a moment and releases a shaky exhale, his grip on George’s elbow increases slightly. Dream’s eyes blink open and reclaim their eye contact, his lips part to speak,

_“I’m sorry-“_ a pause, “I never meant to hurt you, _either of you.”_

George’s heart beats against his sternum, pleading to be let out. 

“You’re my _family.”_ It’s said so softly George has trouble hearing it over his own blood rushing in his ears, but he does. 

Dream’s eyes search his looking for something. George doesn’t know what, _forgiveness?_ He doesn’t know if he’s capable of that just yet, he wants to be, _god_ does he want to forgive the man in front of him. 

Moments pass with silence between them, George can’t seem to speak, his throat clogged with all the things he wants to say to Dream. 

His nerves are set alight the moment he recognises the signs of Dream pulling away, emotionally and physically. He doesn’t want that, that’s the last thing he wants. He wants to let him know that he’s willing to listen. 

The hold Dream has on George slackens and Dream’s eyelids flutter quickly tripping over George’s features, pausing on his mouth. He closes his eyes and ducks his head for a second, forcing George’s hand that was resting on his face to detach. He lets go of George entirely and pulls back.

Except George doesn’t let him get that far. 

He uses the hand that he still has suspended in the air to reclaim its position on Dream, guiding the younger’s face up just enough so that George can connect their lips in a kiss.

It’s an awkward angle, George is still standing and Dream is noticeably taken off guard. It’s not long before the latter is closing his eyes and relaxing into it, reaching for George. He hopes he’s able to convey all that he wants to say with the kiss alone. 

Dream pushes up into the kiss, parts his lips, sucks in a sharp breath of air when George’s tongue swipes over the cut there, pushes harder. Dream seemingly wants more, George is happy to comply. 

There’s a cool touch on his cheek and jaw, he realises that it’s Dream’s hand, mirroring George. He can’t help but melt into it.

They kiss like that, gentle and unassuming, until Dream gets shaky with the way he’s been leaning up to reach George and all the air in George’s lungs has been stolen from him. 

George pulls back for a moment so they can both collect themselves. He releases a trembling breath and rests his forehead on Dream’s. George lets his right hand smooth it’s way down the side of Dream’s neck, resting it on the younger’s collarbone. 

There he revels in the fact that he can feel Dream’s heart pounding similarly to his own, staticky and off-beat. 

Dream is softly swiping his thumb back and forth over George’s cheek, it’s comforting. 

Then it stops.

George blinks his heavy eyes open and watches as Dream slowly pulls back, eyes slightly wide. He’s looking a little to the right of George’s face, he feels Dream’s heart skitter under his palm. 

George tenses, feeling uneasy. 

“What’s wrong?” It’s a whisper.

George feels Dream swipe his thumb once more over his cheekbone, then pull his hand away like George’s skin burns. 

“I’m sorry.” Dream’s voice is unsteady and his head is down, facing his lap where his hands are.

“What are you-“ George cuts off when he glances down at Dream’s hands. They’re bloody. Probably mostly from when Dream was holding his side trying not to bleed out. _Mostly._ George doesn’t want to think about whoever injured Dream in the first place, doesn’t want to know whether Dream deserved it, or deserved worst.

George lets his hand slip from Dream’s chest and raises it to wipe at his own cheek. Sure enough, a small amount of poorly coagulated blood marks the pale skin of his hand. 

He’s quick to reach down for the cold, already blood-stained rag that he used on Dream and wipe it away. 

It’s then that he notices the dried flaky blood on his forearm. He looks back to Dream, his heart pangs at what he finds. 

Dream’s gaze is flicking between all the points of contact he’s had with George. His leg is bouncing and his rust-stained hands are clenched and resting on his thighs.

“It’s okay, Dream.” He tries for soothing but instead gets just short of distressed as he begins to scrub at the blood Dream’s unknowingly stamped on his skin. There’s a metaphor there somewhere. 

George sits down to get better traction. It’s much harder to clean dry blood off with an already bloody (don’t forget cold) rag, but he does his best.The blood on his forearm is practically gone when he shows Dream. 

“It’s fine, _see?”_ A portion of George’s skin is irritated from his vigorous rubbing, he keeps wiping at the last remaining traces then alternates to swipe at his cheek. 

Dream looks pained looking at the remaining blood he’s left on George, he keeps glancing at his own bloody hands.

_“Dream,_ it’s fine.” He can’t even be embarrassed about how desperate his tone is in his effort to comfort the younger. 

Dream shakes his head minutely. George watches as he glances around George’s home. Watches as his eyes land on all the individual pieces of furniture, the dying fire in the lounge and then back to the bloody water-filled bucket at George’s feet.

He knows what Dream is thinking. He’s known Dream for so long _of course_ he knows what he’s thinking. 

He’s thinking that he’ll ruin this. That he’ll fuck up again. That it’s inevitable. Like the blood on George is some sort of fucked up symbolism.

George can see it in the way he curls in on himself, can see it in the small tremor of his dominant hand. In the way his knee bounces. He can see it in the guilty look Dream flicks his way.

George wants to forgive him, he can, he knows he _can._ But Dream needs to stop shutting down and stop pushing George away.

It’s terrifying witnessing Dream begin to close off. His expression evens out, his eyes lose their fervour. It’s like watching a mask slowly take place where there once was a man. Dream turns away, placing a hand on the table top. He pushes himself up with visible strain.

“I should get going.” He sounds distant, warmth leaving his voice. George’s mind compares it to somebody who’s heart has just stopped, their body slowly going cold. With only _moments_ to act and attempt to revive them. 

George’s nerves are buzzing, he won’t go down without a fight.

“Don’t leave-“ his voice is surprisingly stern, “I don’t want you to.” 

Dream’s already reaching for his blood covered mask.

“We don’t always get what we want.” It’s cold. George’s chest aches, he knows Dream is referring to himself. 

The younger won’t look his way, he suspects guilt is the culprit. He hasn’t shut him out completely yet, George can still try. Dream can pretend to be an emotionless prick all he wants, George knows that’s all bullshit. 

He finishes buckling his mask behind his head. Dream is about to pull it over his face when George reaches out one final time. 

He tugs Dream down by the nape of his neck and connects his lips with Dream’s once more. He can taste copper almost immediately but doesn’t care, only pushes into Dream further, chest to chest. 

Notably, Dream barely reacts at first, George’s heart falls to the pit of his stomach. But after a few seconds George feels him lean into it. 

Dream doesn’t touch him but he does nip at George’s lips, he pushes and pulls and _pushes._ He lets George kiss him even though they’ve clearly reopened the cut on his lip. 

George doesn’t care, _he doesn’t care._

He doesn’t care if he’s bloody because Dream’s still _here._

It doesn’t last long though, Dream’s pulling back before he knows it, their mouths coming apart with a wet _click_ that would embarrass George in any other moment. 

Stepping further back from George, Dream wipes his mouth with the back of one of his rust-stained hands and blinks at it when it comes away sticky with blood. 

George is frozen in place, he watches Dream’s chest expand and contract with each breath. Wetting his lips, George winces when he tastes the distinct metal tang of blood on his tongue. His heart is beating so fast.

Dream looks up from under his eyelashes at George, his heart jumps in his rib cage. If George looks hard enough, he swears he can see an apology behind Dream’s eyes. As quick as he notices it though, it’s gone, replaced with a newly familiar indifference. 

Dream slips on the mask. 

George feels his knees go weak, he just makes the kitchen stool when his legs start to give out from underneath him.

Dream shuts the door quietly behind himself. The only trace he was ever inside George’s home at all being the rust-coloured water, the bloody rags, and George’s bleeding heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from ‘Wiped Out!’ by The Neighbourhood.
> 
> Twt: nonafng


End file.
